


The Shepherd Who Laughed

by Avid Moron (Nevermore9)



Category: PAW Patrol
Genre: Best Friends, Birthday, Crazy, Explosions, Fire, Firefighters, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Pyromania, laughing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore9/pseuds/Avid%20Moron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This going to be the best birthday ever! With killer fireworks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shepherd Who Laughed

"Marshall, you came!"  
The fire pup smiled fondly and his host flourished an over-the-top bow while he ushered him inside. Marshall took in the sights of the old Victorian manor with a sense of confusion. Standing on the wooden porch completed with white support beams, much fatter at the base, the house wasn't a lot to look at. Ridiculously, the interior decore, or lack of decore, was the same: dusty, cobwebbed, and termite bitten. Curtains covered half of every window, the other half poked with moth holes, which cast the entire lair in a gloomy light. This wasn't exactly what Marshall was expecting when he overheard there was going to be a surprise party held in his honor; but he tried to act grateful, sure that this was somehow a deception and that soon he'd be at the real party. "Wow, Chase, you sure chose somewhere...uh, new."  
Not bothering to shut the front door behind them, Chase chuckled, a strange kind of chuckle. "You like it then?"  
"Of course I like it."  
Chase beamed as bright as a jagged clown, lit by flashlight around a campfire. Brushing past Marshall, tail wagging, he made sure to send the Dalmatian an out of place wink. "Then you'll simply die for the present I got for you."  
Feeling Chase's shoulder linger against his own, the birthday pup blushed the color of licorice frosted with lovey-dovey ketchup. It must've been an accident, Marshall thought. The moment was just brief enough for that to be true, but that didn't dull the heat of the word "present" on Marshall's spotted ear. Chase's breath had infected him with a terrible case of electric goose bumps. He had it so bad that he didn't even notice the unveiling of a purple, tinsel wrapped, gift box, until Chase had nudged it in front of him.  
"Y-You really shouldn't have," Marshall stuttered.  
Without a reply, Chase watched, on the edge of his seat, while his friend daintily tugged on a lavish bow. After meticulously removing the tightly tied tie, Marshall uncapped his gift with a push from his nose. Chase had never been so anxious. It was a gorgeous occasion of unparalleled surprise. When the ivory toothed grimace of a jack-in-the-box joker exploded from Marshall's present, Chase was so giddy that he found it painful not to double over in unabridged laughter. Of course Marshall's awkwardly kept picture of innocence made popping the giggle inflated balloons, trying to escape the Shepherd's throat, excruciating. The mocking jingle of the jack-in-the-box's bells didn't help either. However, Chase managed to keep an air of seriousness for the sake of the Dalmatian's sensitivities.  
"Huh?" was the first thing Marshall could think to utter. He sounded as though he might cry. "Chase, I don't get it."  
"That-" Ha Ha "-isn't your birthday-" Ho Ho "-present."  
Wide eyed, trembling slightly from embarrassment and bewilderment, Marshall opened his mouth. His jaw couldn't even flap a little. Much like a songbird assaulted by a murder of crows, Marshall was paralyzed. There was more to be said, but the pup could fill none of the gaping questions with any words. Then his chagrin with the whole situation so far was interrupted by a drop of water on his nose. The fire pup looked to the rickety ceiling, suspended a storey or two above him. It groaned. It shook with a strain, rattled like an unsteady pair of wooden knees paperclipped to an old bag of nails. As Marshall sneezed, a patter of liquid spilled onto the concrete floor. He sniffed. "Gasoline?"  
Bubbling with wheezy laughter, chuckling like a man who just can't hold his bladder anymore, Chase rolled his eyes upwards. "Here we go."  
Fire ignited by the tiniest, itty-bitty spark, bearing a sadistic pyromaniac's sneer, ingulfed the floors overhead. Rooms, left empty for centuries, were suddenly occupied by scores of dancing red, orange, yellow, guests, all of them quite heated. The warmth was the first sweet sensation which tippy-toed up Marshall's frozen spine. Each following sensation got less sweet, and more painful. Burning was the next symptom of stuck-in-a-burning-building-itis, a hot (Ha-Ha) example of painful. Marshall was starting to feel a lot like a marshmallow. His paw pads were sweaty enough to leave him standing in a persperation puddle, his tongue was panting as crazily as a throbbing, bleeding piggy. And what was Chase doing while Mr. Fire was having the time of his life? He was laughing of course. After all, it's only right that enjoyment gets spread around.  
"Oh, Marshall-" Ho Hee Ho "-I must be in love, because I'm burning for you!" Ha-Ha, Heh Ho-Hah! "Smoke certainly does get in your eyes!"  
Wasting not a puny second, not even that one deformed dwarf of a second who never is invited to the birthday parties, Marshall barked. "Water canon," he ruffed, trying his darndest to surpress the hurt of his singed fur. He looked more like a charcoal junkyard dog than a Dalmatian. Chase was cackling his furry butt off, and Marshall sprayed him with grubby hose water. The German Shepherd dropped with the grace of a soggy piece of toast, kicking his legs madly while he squeezed his vocal chords dry.  
Marshall crept forth through the fume spitting flames. He was expending every liter of bravey he didn't know he kept in reinforcement tanks. Yet, simultaneously, he was acting as foolish as a bug battling a lightbulb, in hopes to crack it, or a suicidal dust mote collecting on the end of a lit cigarette. Still, the end result for the chivalrous pooch was grabbing hold of a snickering, damp Chase's collar, which could be seen as neither here nor there. Busy serenading his savior, hilariously, Chase didn't notice being dragged out the door, until he was lying on the front lawn.  
Hacking up floorboard ash, coughing with exhaust circulating around his clean, pink lungs, Marshall collapsed on the grass. "Marshall, you big kidder," Chase said, wobbling to his feet like an elated, non compos mentis marionette (if you know what I mean). "Get up, we're having a Hell of a time-" Hah Hah! "A Hell of a time!"  
The Fido firefighter, keeled over, probably dying from asphyxia, wasn't having a Hell of a time though. He was losing his oxygen, losing sight of reality, or some semblance of it. In his comatose condition, Marshall fantasized about a real birthday party, real streamers, real cake, real miniture, pooch sized party hats, a real present too; but obviously none of it was really real, not physically anyway, and none of it as fun as being slow-roasted, barbecued, and blown to smithereens inside a derelict estate. (Wait! We didn't get to that last part yet.)  
KaBOOM! The whole building exploded. Pieces of house flew sky-high, reeling like meteors in reverse. "Marshall," Chase whined. "You're missing the fireworks!"  
Luckily, the Dalmatian came to in time to see a scatter of glowing debris illuminate the purple sunset horizon. So beautiful was the image of hellfire raining down upon innocent civilians, setting flame to their outrageously expensive hairdos, that Marshall was in tears; or maybe it was the fact that his best friend, the guy who he'd masturbate to, if he did that kind of thing, had betrayed him. Without even the courtesy of using a box of matches, Chase tried to grill Marshall on his birthday. True, Marshall is a firefighter, it's in his job description to go mono a mono with this sorta dilemma, and, in an optimistic mood, he has counted on Chase starting a fire in his heart, but this is ridiculous!  
"Ch-Chase," the puppy sobbed. "Are you good?"  
The Shepherd squealed out of shear rapture. "Just dandy, Fire-Britches. As dandy as a daisy."  
"Do you think the bombs had to explode?"  
"Bombs?" Chase cried. Then suddenly he was in stitches. "Oh-" Ha Ha Ho! "That's-" Heh, cough, Hah "-a good one!"  
Marshall's sunken, defeated face turned towards his boisterous buddy. "I don't get the joke."  
"Maybe-" Hah-Hah, cough, Ha "-it's all the laughing gas-" Ho Ho, cough, "-going to your head." Cough, cough. "Oh, wait...that's just me." And with a final foolhardy grin, Chase blacked out.

A handful of candles adorned Marshall's jumbo dog biscuit, but their flicker was lonesome, despite the group of pups gathered around the table. The keystone of the clan was missing, the so-called leader of the pack. Marshall found it ominous how the candlelight mirrored the drum of his heart. He hardly payed attention to the music, celebrating him. Chase is a dog who likes attention.  
"And many more!" Zuma shouted out after the dity had come to a close. The Lab's overly tremendous smile was trying to compensate for something obvious and irreplaceable.  
The doorhandle rattled as Ryder suddenly entered the room with a joyous flourish. "Pups, great news," the boy chimed in good humor. Pushing the door on its hinges, he revealed a German Shepherd, looking groggy, but content, with a bag of ice hanging over his furry head. Marshall lit up like sunshine, while his friends cheered.  
Now the gang was all there. Rubble, being a nosy bugger, went asking about Marshall and Chase, as, unfortunately, he had missed the explosion of the old house, which happened to quite the entertaining blast for the firefighter and copper, in retrospect. Ryder took up all the Bulldog's queeries, sparing Chase the nausea of recounting his crazed, laughing gas induced high.  
"Just a little trouble with the dentist, gave Chase too much medicine. Then there was a gas leak."  
"Blow out the candles already, Marsh, old boy," Chase chirped.  
The fire pup puffed, wishing for something more quiet for his next birthday.


End file.
